


Unstable

by starlight_starbright



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Avengers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Dates, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Sex, M/M, Memories, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rutting, Steve Doesn't Give A Shit, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He takes comfort in the strong hands protecting him from the chill, from the monsters in his head. They still have no clue what’s coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unstable

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Unstable (Chinese Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680190) by [singalongsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singalongsong/pseuds/singalongsong)



> Title from Anberlin
> 
> Taught me to trust now  
> Yet you have no faith  
> In yourself  
> Why can't you believe in what you know?  
> Come around (darling)  
> Let me in  
> How can I talk you down from that ledge  
> Unless you let me in?

_1939_

The thing you have to know about Steve is that he’s a strong-willed, heard-headed, stubborn punk-ass kid. He refuses his inhaler even on the coldest days and doesn’t take his medicine like he should. He doesn’t let Bucky give him extra food or even some of Bucky’s blankets. And it’s not that Bucky pities him, really it isn’t. Bucky just wants to help, just wants to show his best friend that he cares. Bucky loves that man with his blonde hair and baby blues and porcelain skin. Steve gets so angry when Bucky tries to help—mostly because he doesn’t want to be seen as fragile. He doesn’t want to see Steve sick, but he’s so goddamn stubborn that sometimes Bucky can't stand to be around him.

On the other hand, Steve has a heart of gold. Bucky knows this and he loves him for it. Steve doesn’t like bullies—never has—but he doesn’t have the strength to hold his own in a fight. He always comes home bruised and bloody and most of the time, he refuses Bucky’s offer to patch him up. It breaks Bucky’s heart, but he knows Steve has to be independent because he has to be able to take care of himself when Bucky’s gone. Steve just wants to help people—wants to fight in the war because he doesn’t think its fair that people are sacrificing their lives and he’s still stateside. Bucky understand this to a point, but Bucky also has a burning need to keep Steve safe and war is definitely not _safe_.

So when Bucky gets home to see Steve curled up in bed with all the blankets in their apartment, he smiles to himself. At least Steve is keeping warm in this cold weather. Even Bucky is starting to feel the chill penetrate his bones. Even so, as soon as he closes the door behind him, he’s stripping out of his jacket and kicking his boots off. The room is chilly—the heat must not be working—but there’s a steaming mug of coffee sitting on the counter for him and Steve is popping his head out of the mountain of blankets to peer at him.

His hair is ruffled and his eyes are bright, but his face is paler than Bucky would like it to be. The coffee is hot and rich and warms him down to the tips of his toes. He leans against the counter for a while, sipping the drink and watching Steve and smiling to himself.

“What’re you leering at?” Steve asks, poking his head up again. Bucky sets the empty mug down and crosses the floor to the bed.

“Just the beautiful man in my bed.” 

“Mm,” Steve assents. “How was work?” Bucky leans down and kisses him softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Cold. Wet. The usual.” Steve frowns slightly. “Don’t do that,” Bucky murmurs, cupping the blonde’s jaw. “I’m okay. You made me coffee.” Steve smiles and leans into the touch. His face his warm—almost feverish. He’s wheezing slightly. “You okay, Steve? You feel kinda hot.” Bucky presses his hand to both of Steve’s cheeks, his forehead. Steve shakes his hand off.

“I’m fine, Buck. Nothing to worry about, just a little cold.” Bucky sighs, burrowing under the blankets next to the smaller man.

“It’s never just a little cold, Steve.” Steve tenses. “I’m just worried about you, baby. I hate seeing you sick.” Bucky runs his fingers through that soft blonde hair, massaging Steve’s scalp. 

“Mmm, that feels nice.” Bucky kisses the nape of his neck. 

“Please take your medicine, Steve. Please.”

“Buck—” Steve starts to protest, but it’s cut off by a cough.

“We have a little bit of extra money this week. I took an extra shift. Please.” Steve sighs, frustrated, but gets out of bed to grab his inhaler. And _oh God_ he’s wearing Bucky’s clothes—a thick grey sweater and sweatpants and he’s never looked more beautiful. He sucks in the medicine, the plastic object making a soft _puff_ , and hold his breath in for a few moments before exhaling. He repeats the motion one more time before putting it down and crawling back into bed shooting Bucky his _are you happy now?_ look. “There,” Bucky whispers, dropping kisses along Steve’s shoulder. “That’s better, yeah?” Steve nods reluctantly and catches Bucky’s lips with his. And _God_ every time Steve kisses him he feels like he’s come home. So he wraps the small man in his arms and kisses back, deepening it, swiping his tongue over Steve’s bottom lip, biting gently.

“Bucky,” Steve moans, pressing up against Bucky’s thigh. His cock is hard and hot against Bucky’s leg and Steve beings to rut slowly, still kissing like his life depends on it.

“Jesus God, Stevie. What’s gotten into you?” Steve looks up at him with his best innocent face on.

“Well I was hoping _you_ would.” Bucky busts into a grin.

“Sure thing, doll.” He licks into Steve’s mouth and sneaks a hand down to cup his cock over the soft cotton.

“God, Buck.” Steve’s fingers are digging into Bucky’s biceps, blunt nails digging in. Bucky rucks the smaller man’s sweater up, warm hands over cool, pale skin. Steve pulls it the rest of the way off, reaching for Bucky’s. Sitting back on his knees, Bucky pulls his shirt off before leaning down to slowly pull off Steve’s pants.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. Steve’s not wearing underwear. “Look at you,” he murmurs, stroking over the v of Steve’s slim hips. “If you ain’t the best thing I've seen all day.” Steve shivers when Bucky takes his cock in his hand.

“Take your pants off,” Steve orders, but it sounds more like a question, like Steve isn’t sure Bucky really wants to do this. After all the times they’ve been together, Steve is still insecure about it. So after Bucky takes off his pants and boxers, he leans down to kiss Steve. It’s nothing like the rushed kisses from earlier—Bucky wants Steve to know that he cherishes him, that he loves him, that Steve is just _so important_. 

“I love you, Steve,” He whispers against kiss-swollen lips. “I love you so fuckin’ much. You're the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Steve looks surprised that Bucky’s being so serious now, with them pressed flush to each other.

“God, Buck. I love you, too.” So Bucky grabs the Vaseline and he’s gentle about pushing a finger into Steve. They seem to always rush this for whatever reason—fear of getting caught, lust, need—but Bucky wants this time to be different. He wants to erase all doubt in Steve’s mind—the fear that he doesn’t deserve to be loved, that he’s not the most beautiful man in the world. He pushed another finger in and swallows Steve’s moans like they’re air. After a few minutes, Bucky adds a third finger, moving carefully and listening to the blonde’s breathing for any signs of an asthma attack.

“You ready, baby?” he asks. Steve kisses him again, soft and sweet and everything Bucky’s ever wanted.

“Please,” he whispers, blue eyes peering up at him. Bucky slicks himself slowly, aware that Steve’s eyes are following every movement of his hands. Lining up, he pushes in carefully, cradling Steve’s head with one hand and his hip with the other. Steve lets out a breathy moan once Bucky bottoms out, hands gripping at his ass and shoulder. 

“We’re gonna take this slow, alright?” Steve nods, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re so beautiful Stevie,” he murmurs as he starts to thrust slowly. Steve’s breathing is harsh, but there’s no wheezing—it’s passion, not his asthma. “Fuck, Steve.” Steve whines and Bucky thrusts a little bit harder, a little bit deeper. They stay like that for countless minutes, Bucky rocking against Steve, Steve’s eyes shut with needy noises ripping out of his chest. 

“’M gonna come,” Steve whispers, hand going down to touch himself. Bucky swats his hand away gently, taking over the privilege of stroking Steve to orgasm. 

“Look at me, Steve.” His eyes flutter open, glazed over with pleasure and what looks like love. He’s absolutely stunning when he comes, throwing his head back, moaning uncontrollably, hands fisting in Bucky’s hair, and all the while keeping eye contact with Bucky. Bucky leans down to kiss him as he himself comes, biting gently at Steve’s lips, groaning softly.

After, Bucky cleans them up and bundles them up under the blankets. Steve shuts off the light and they cuddle up together, satiated and happy in the post-coital glow. Steve’s skin is the good kind of warm—not feverish—his breathing even, and he’s pressed so close to Bucky that they may as well be one person.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness, into Steve’s golden hair bleached silver in the moonlight. “’Till the end of the line.” Steve laughs softy and kisses Bucky’s chest.

“I love you, too.” They sleep, secure in one another with no idea what’s about to come next.

 

_1943_

Bucky can't believe that this man is Steve. Not _his_ Steve, anyway. The voice and the eyes are the same, but that’s where the similarities stop. This man had broken Bucky out of Zola’s lab without breaking a sweat, had jumped that gap without a second thought. This man hadn't touched him, but was giving him concerned sideways glances every chance he got. This man hadn't spoken a word to him since they left the HYDRA base.

As soon as they get back to camp, a woman with dark hair and red lipstick comes to see Steve. She’s beautiful and Bucky learns her name is Peggy Carter. He’s instantly jealous of her, of the way Steve looks at her. He’s always known that Steve swings both ways, but that used to be a look just reserved for Bucky.

Now Steve is looking at her that way.

Bucky keeps his face expressionless and goes to the barracks he’s been assigned to. And goddamn it, it’s Steve’s room. They put him with Steve. In their own room. Are they _trying_ to fuckin’ kill him? Bucky sighs, dropping the duffle he’d been carrying to curl up on the cot—the _mattress_ —that’s most definitely Steve. It smells like him and Bucky feels like he’s going to cry. But no, this can't be Steve. It can't be no matter how familiar his eyes and his voice and his smell are. It _can't_ be. Steven Grant Rogers is a skinny kid from Brooklyn, not a soldier. Not _Captain America_.

“Bucky?” the voice that sounds like Steve asks. Bucky presses his face into the pillow, refusing to answer. “I brought some food and some blankets. I can leave them here.” Bucky rolls over and sits up, taking in the man in front of him. Steve is standing in front of the door, one hand reached behind him to grasp the doorknob. He looks . . . nervous? But that can't be right. Captain America nervous? “You don’t have to stay here, Buck. Or you can stay here and I can leave. Whatever you want, whatever you need.” Bucky stands up and crosses the room slowly. The man who says he’s Steve backs up so that his back is pressed up against the door.

“You sound like Steve,” Bucky whispers, reaching out to touch the man’s shoulder. “You have the same eyes. But you can't be Steve. You can't.” The man closes his eyes and lets out a breath.

“I _am_ Steve, Buck. I am. Just . . . bigger. Stronger.” The man who says he’s Steve takes Bucky’s hand and presses it to his chest. “I’m right here. I'm still the same kid from Brooklyn who didn’t like bullies. The same kid you held through the winters. I just don’t get sick anymore.” Bucky breathes deeply and lets his forehead fall to Steve’s. And it _is_ Steve. Bucky can't deny it anymore. Maybe its not _his_ Steve—not his Stevie—but it’s Steve all the same.

“Steve,” he whispers, testing the name on his tongue. Steve’s arms come up to clutch him tightly.

“Yeah, Buck. Yeah, it’s me.” Bucky doesn’t cry, but his body starts to shake. It’s unbelievable—that he’s here, that he’s alive, that Steve is here and holding him and that they’re together. Bucky lifts his head to look into those ocean blue eyes.

“Kiss me?” he asks quietly. He needs to feel—needs to feel Steve.

“Yes, of course, c’mere.” Steve cups his jaw and leans down to press his lips to Bucky’s and _holy shit_ Bucky’s missed this. Steve pulls away, peppering Bucky’s face with kisses. “I thought you were dead,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “God, I thought I’d lost you.” Steve kisses him again and Bucky can taste salt on his lips.

“I’m right here,” Bucky says, repeating what Steve’d said earlier. “I’m right here, Stevie. With you.” Steve pulls him to the bed, kicks his shoes off, and pulls Bucky down next to him. Bucky pillows his head on the blonde’s chest, still not used to all the muscle. His hand reaches up to card through the sunshine-blonde hair.

“Mmh,” Steve breathes, and Bucky smiles. Steve’d always liked this.

“So you gonna show me or what?” Steve looks at him, confused. “What’s the point of all that muscle if you don’t have anyone to touch it?” Steve sits up and pulls his shirt off slowly and Bucky gasps. He’s beautiful. Not that he wasn’t before, but this is a different kind of beauty. Hard, defined muscle under tanned skin. Bucky runs his hands over it, marvelling at the touch, at the warmth. His thumb runs over a nipple and Steve inhales sharply. “Tell me what you want, baby.” Steve looks up at him, eyes soft, with a small smile curving those red lips.

“You.” Bucky dives in to kiss him, hands roaming everywhere, rolling over so that he’s straddling Steve’s hips. Steve takes him by the thighs and bucks up, moaning when their hardening cocks rub against each other and Bucky doesn’t think this is going to last long enough to get all of their clothes off. Big hands ruck up his shirt, touching softly before pulling it off.

“Jesus Chris,” Bucky moans into Steve’s mouth.

“Shh, Buck,” Steve says softly. But Bucky can't help it. Steve is here rutting against him with complete abandon and it feels so _goddamn good_. They’re definitely not going to get the rest of their clothes off because Bucky is so close, so close to falling over the edge. He bites down on Steve’s neck, the place he knows drives Steve nuts, and spills in his pants at the sound of Steve’s moan. He can feel the blonde shuddering under him, fingers digging into Bucky’s shoulders. 

Bucky rolls off of Steve, panting and wriggling out of his pants to throw them on the floor. He uses his boxers to clean himself up, doing the same to Steve once his pants are off. Snuggling up to the bigger man, Bucky breathes in deeply, trying to memorise the scent of his . . . boyfriend? He takes comfort in the strong hands protecting him from the chill, from the monsters in his head. They still have no clue what’s coming.

 

_1945_

Two years later and Steve and Bucky are still going strong. He’s glad for it—for not having to spend cold nights alone, to be able to brave the war with his best friend even if they have to hide their sexual relationship. The Howling Commandos know and don’t care, but the world is watching his team. They have to be careful. 

Before the train, Bucky sneaks a kiss—not a deep one, not even a long one—but it calms him all the same. They say _I love you_ and _this won't be the end_ before zip lining to land on the train.

Everything goes to hell.

They get separated, then come back together. Steve uses his body and shield to protect Bucky from the robot-man attacking them. Everything moves in a blur and next thing he knows, he’s clutching at a metal bar and dangling God knows how far off the ground. Steve inches out of the train, face twisted in fear.

“Grab my hand!” he shouts over the wind. Bucky tries, but the bar breaks, sending him into the misty air below them. 

He feels scared. Terrified.

The last thing he sees is Steve’s face.

The last thing he feels is love.

 

_2015_

_But I knew him_. _The man on the bridge._

Those words haunt him. The memories are coming back slowly, so goddamn slowly. He knows Steve is trying to find him, but he hadn't wanted to be found. He thinks that now, maybe he does. He knows who Steve is, what they were to each other. He remembers a lot about Steve—not everything—but more than he remembers about anything else. 

Steven Grant Rogers, the skinny, asthmatic, partially deaf, partially blind kid that never backed down from a fight—the love of his life. Steven Grant Rogers, the soldier, the hero, Captain America—the love of his life.

He feels in control enough to let himself be found, so he stays in one place—their old apartment in Brooklyn. No body has lived here for years, it seems, and Bucky feels at home here—like he never left. He buys a few blankets and an air mattress and makes himself comfortable. It’s not going to be a long wait—he left enough of breadcrumbs.

He’s hoping that Steve comes alone; hoping that Steve won't be disgusted with what Bucky’s become. He’s not quite Bucky Barnes, but he’s no longer the Winter Soldier either. He’s a mix of both, finding that he’s more like Bucky Barnes every day. He believes that if he keeps telling himself his name is _Bucky_ not _the Asset_ , it might become true. So far, it has.

He’d started out trying to remember only the good things—only the things from Before. But then, he had realised that the only way to deal with his past was to embrace it. Embrace who he _is_ and reconcile that with who he _was_. The only way to come to terms with what he’d done is to remember, to forgive himself.

It’s not that easy, though. He has nightmares, panic attacks, and sometimes he tries not to sleep so that he doesn’t have to see their faces—the faces of all the people he’s killed. But even with a knock-off serum, he can only go without sleep for so long. He knows that Steve would want him to take care of himself—he’s never been able to deny Steve anything, especially when he was fully Bucky Barnes, the man he used to be—and now is no different.

He knows that if Steve finds him malnourished and sleep-deprived to the point of nearly collapsing he won't be happy. Bucky needs to make sure that he’s at his best for Steve to find him. Make sure he doesn’t look like a threat, like someone that would hurt him, no matter what he had done in the past. He’ll take whatever Steve gives him even if its turning him over to the people that are trying to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D, although that’s probably not going to happen.

Sometimes, he wonders about his metal arm. He’s tried ripping the damn thing off, but a voice in his head reminds him _it’s connected to hundreds of nerve endings._ So he does his best to cover it up, cover up the red star on his shoulder. It’s a constant reminder—a reminder of HYDRA, of hurting people, of hurting _Steve_. He doesn’t want it, doesn’t want to admit that it’s useful, but he can't deny the truth. He’d made a promise not to lie to himself and he doesn’t plan to break it.

So he sleeps and he eats and he does push ups and crunches on the hard wooden floor of the apartment. He takes daily showers and shaves his face. He doesn’t cut his hair, just throws it back in a bun or a ponytail. He’s not quite comfortable cutting it short just yet. Maybe he’ll get there. Eventually.

On his fifteenth day in the apartment, he hears footsteps in the middle of the night, so either Steve has found him or some poor idiot is trying to rob him. But no, he knows that sound. He knows the way Steve moves, and this is Steve. So he sits up, hands in front of him so that Steve will be able to see them, and waits.

He’s scared because he doesn’t quite have a plan.

He’s scared because he doesn’t know what to say.

He’s scared because Steve might reject him 

He’s terrified that Steve won't want him anymore. 

But when he finally sees Steve—sees him for real, with a mind that remembers him—Bucky can't sop himself from standing, from reaching out a hand, from opening and closing his mouth around half-formed words.

Steve is wary, shield held up in front of him. Bucky knows he isn’t going to hurt him, but last time Steve saw him, he _was_ hurting him. He’s in his uniform, but he doesn’t have a weapon. He looks tired, and why wouldn’t he? He probably has nightmares as much as Bucky does, if not more. But it still breaks his heart to see Steve like this. 

“Bucky?” Steve asks, hushed. Bucky tries to form words, fails, and tries again.

“Yeah, Stevie. Yeah.” The blonde lowers his shield, but doesn’t approach. His training is kicking in, at war with his instincts to _protect_. Bucky then realises that Steve has changed, too. Steve isn’t the same, and that was to be expected, but it still fuckin’ hurts. 

“Buck?” Steve asks again, taking a step closer. Bucky lifts both of his hands and takes the few steps to stand a foot in front of him.

“I’m not gonna to hurt you,” he assures, reaching out slowly. Steve allows him to touch his shoulder, to squeeze lightly.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, eyes closing. Bucky almost smirks, but it doesn’t quite make it. 

“Are you just gonna say my name all night, punk?” he asks, trying to break the tension. Steve’s eyes pop open, peering at Bucky though long lashes. His body language says that he can't believe this, that Bucky is acting like his old self. His eyes say that he wants to believe it. “Because I'm not gonna stand here all night,” Bucky continues, allowing a genuine smile flutter over his features. “Why don’t we sit down?” He turns and goes to sit on the air mattress, scooting up to brace himself against the wall. Steve follows more slowly, setting his shield against the wall and sitting a few feet away from Bucky. 

“How . . .?”

“I remember. The memories . . . they’ve been comin’ back.” Steve lets out a shaky breath, head falling into his hands. “It’s true, Steve. I don’t remember eveythin’, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna hurt you.” Steve inches closer to him like he can't believe it, but he wants to so desperately.

“Is this real?” he asks, hand reaching across the blankets. Bucky takes it in his own, thumb stroking over the top of the warm skin.

“Yeah, Stevie. It’s real. I’m here.” Bucky looks at him thoughtfully, choosing his next words carefully. “I decided it was time you found me. I’m sorry for runnin’, but I needed to get myself together, get the Soldier under control so I wouldn’t hurt you again.” Steve nods, still wary, but willing to listen. So Bucky lets the dam break and spills everything in halting, broken sentences. He tells Steve about everything he’s done, about all the missions, about the cryo and the mind-wipes. About remembering, about what he’s been up to since pulling Steve out of the water, all the while holding Steve’s hand. The light from the lamp illuminates Steve’s face and Bucky watches as he relaxes more and more. When Bucky is finally done, Steve yanks him into a bone-crushing hug.

“I can't believe it,” he murmurs into Bucky’s neck. Bucky strokes his back soothingly.

“Better believe it, pal. I made a promise. ‘Till the end of the line.” Steve starts to cry. Bucky can count on one hand how many times he’s seen Steve cry, but this is a cathartic kind of crying. An unbelieving kind of crying. The kind of crying that is neither sad nor happy, the kind of crying that comes out of outrageous relief. He feels Steve’s shoulders relax, his posture softening in Bucky’s arms. 

“I thought . . .” Steve can't finish, a fresh wave of tears running down Bucky’s neck to soak the collar of his shirt. 

“I love you so fuckin’ much, Steve. They told me you’d died. _God_ , you're alive and you're here.” Bucky is trembling with the reality of it all—the insanity. Steve is here, Bucky is here, and by some miracle they’d found each other again. “If you don’t . . . if you want to turn me over, if you want to send me away . . . if you don’t want me . . . you can tell me. I’ll do whatever you want—I will.” Steve’s head snaps up and he presses his lips to Bucky’s. It’s a different kind of kiss—desperate, needy, unbelieving and believing at the same time.

“Don’t ever say that, Bucky,” Steve says sharply, pulling away enough to speak. “Don’t ever fuckin’ say that I don’t want you. I’ll always want you, always love you. ‘Till the end of the line, right?” Bucky smiles, an honest-to-God smile, for the first time in years. Decades. A smile he’d always reserved for Steve. Steve smiles back, kissing him once more.

“’Till the end of the line.”

 

_2017_

Bucky is a part of something wonderful, something he never thought he’d have. He’s a part of a team—the Avengers. He has friends again, has a family again. He has Steve and no matter what happens, he knows he’ll always have Steve. They live in the Avengers tower now, but they have their own floor. At first, Bucky had been uncomfortable, but the more movie nights he attended, the more Saturday breakfasts, he starts to relax. 

He hit it off with Clint right away, even if Natalia had been a bit suspicious of him and his motives. But as time went by, she became more and more accustomed to him being around. It had never offended him, he knew that she and Steve were basically brother and sister—that she looked after him and he looked after her. She had threatened him, the normal _hurt him and I’ll kill you_ speech, and Bucky as assured her that that would never happen.

He’s also become quite close with Tony Stark. It’s kind of ironic, becoming friends with Howard’s son, but Bucky doesn’t mind so much anymore. Tony has developed a new arm for Bucky—lighter, more durable, less painful. Steve is the one to design his new star—white rimmed with gold and deep green. The colours of the Howling Commandos. Bucky almost cries when he sees it.

They go to see Peggy, and even though she doesn’t always remember, it comforts them both. When she dies, they go to the funeral and hold each other close, comforting and soothing. They both saw it coming, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Things aren’t always perfect, but neither of them expected it to be. They both still have nightmares, still wake up screaming and sweating, but they’re always there for one another—to hold and comfort. Steve is learning to be less reckless, to not throw himself into situations that could get him killed. He has someone to come home to, someone to protect. Bucky feels the same, and it feels almost normal. Steve still comes home beaten and broken, but Bucky is there to put him back together. To stitch his wounds and treat his bruises and kiss away the demons. Steve does the same for him, always has.

Their relationship is stronger than ever, and Bucky contemplates proposing. It’s not illegal anymore. Not completely accepted—the media had had a field day when Steve had come out, especially since he was dating Bucky—but the Avengers stood behind him. Steve has been backed up by most of America’s youth, homosexuality becoming more and more accepted. More and more kids finding the courage to come out. And any hate crimes, especially against homosexuals or transgenders sets Steve off. Not that he doesn’t care about anyone else, but he knows how it feels to be gay and bullied.

So finally, Bucky buys the ring. Just a simple silver band—Steve never liked gold—but the inside is engraved with something special, something he knows Steve will love. Bucky takes him out on a date. They don’t get to do it often, but the rest of the team has agreed not to call them in unless absolutely necessary. They don’t expect anything to happen, but Bucky leaves his phone on vibrate anyway.

He takes Steve to dinner at a fancy restaurant—they have the money now—and they order steak and lobster and whiskey. The ring is burning a hole in his pocket, but he has a plan. After dinner, they get ice cream at a local place that Steve loves and walk around, enjoying New York City’s night life holding hands and stealing kisses. Steve doesn’t realise where they’re going until they arrive. 

Their old apartment.

They still own it, still spend time there when they need to get away. They’d taken their things back from the Smithsonian, so it was almost the same. Almost. As soon as they’re in the door, Steve is stopping so quickly that Bucky runs into him. He laughs and loops his arm through Steve. 

“Like it?” he asks. The room is lit up with candles, a single rose on the counter. He knows it’s sappy, but Steve loves things like this.

“What . . . why?” Bucky takes a deep breath and goes to stand in front of Steve before dropping to one knee. Steve stares down at him with wide eyes.

“Steven Grant Rogers, I have loved you for almost a century. We’ve grown up together, gone to war together, fought together, and hurt together. We’ve recovered and come to terms with who we are. We’ve loved and we’ve lost, but never lost each other. Even when I didn’t remember you, I knew you were mine to protect. And I want to do that for the rest of our lives.” He pulls out the ring and presents it to Steve. “Steve, will you marry me?” Steve has a hand clasped over his hand, sinking down to his knees next to Bucky.

“Yes,” he whispers. “God, yes. Of course, yes.” Bucky slides the ring into place and it fits just right—the way they fit together.

“It’s engraved,” Bucky says later, after the mind-blowing sex they’d just had. They’re curled up in bed together, sheets tangles around intertwined limbs. Steve takes the ring off to inspect it. “I know it’s . . . sappy or whatever, but I want it to be a daily reminder.”

 _‘Till the end of the line,_ the script proclaims.

“Bucky, I love it. I love you. We’re getting married.” Bucky kisses him softly and Steve puts the ring back in it’s place.

“Yeah, Stevie. We are.”

 


End file.
